


hold my heart and watch it burn (and i will hold on to you)

by driveinitagain



Series: but i hear sounds in my mind [1]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: (now it's time for real tags!), (yes i don't know how to tag things leave me alone), Post-Season/Series 03, Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington Friendship, Steve Harrington - Freeform, Steve Harrington-centric, steve & robin, steve deserves a hug and he doesn't get one but he arguably gets something better so it's okay, there's a special guest at the end if you squint, there's also cookies, this is the alternative christmas fic that absolutely no one asked for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-03 12:56:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21179795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/driveinitagain/pseuds/driveinitagain
Summary: Or, alternatively, Steve reflects on the last three years of his life on Robin's kitchen floor.





	hold my heart and watch it burn (and i will hold on to you)

December 19th, 1985.

It was snowing, soft and quiet. Robin’s house was safe, sound, warm—Christmas lights were strung all along her pale yellow kitchen, making the already inviting space cozier than usual. Flour and sugar were dusted on every single surface you could see, and cookie cutters were lying everywhere else. Absentmindedly, Steve ran his fingers through his hair, definitely coating it with flecks of white. 

If you didn’t know him, or see the purple bruising around his left eye, you wouldn’t even suspect he’d just managed to save the world yet again. (Believe it or not, he won a fight this time around, too.) Three years of fighting creatures from alternate dimensions, and he figured he deserved at least one normal night. That’s why, when Robin suggested he come over to help bake Christmas cookies after he mentioned that he’d never done it before, he did. 

So, here he was, on timer duty, listening to Robin’s beat up radio alone while she cleaned herself up in the bathroom down the hall. The sugar cookies had roughly four minutes left and the room smelt like...home. _Home_. It was a word he’d come to understand in new ways, with the help of new people. __

_ __ _

It’s weird. Before he knew that monsters actually existed, he would’ve told you home was 1146 Norwood Lane. Nowadays, though, he’d tell you home wasn’t really a place—it was a feeling. Home was Dustin trying to educate him about Star Wars. Home was Lucas and Mike begging him to teach them how to drive. Home was dropping Max off at the arcade and giving her all the spare change he had. Home was something outside of King Steve’s castle, and the kingdom no longer existed. 

To be honest, he was starting to wonder if it ever really did.

He hummed along to “Everybody Wants To Rule The World” by Tears For Fears as it faded out, only to be met by the top 40 DJ greeting him.

“I’m Carl Jetson and you’re listening to B97! Here’s a new one for anyone spending this holiday season alone. This is “Last Christmas” by Wham!—good luck getting it out of your head.”

_Last Christmas, I gave you my heart_  
_But the very next day, you gave it away___  
_This year, to save me from tears_  
_I’ll give it to someone special___

__

__

_ _ __ _ _

_ _ __ _ _

_ __ _

_ __ _

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,”

Steve slid to the floor, further covering his apron in various baking powders in the process. 

A year ago, he spent Christmas alone, save for a visit from Dustin on Christmas Eve where he had to convince him that yes, his parents would be home in time for Christmas, so no, he wasn’t going to be alone, and yes, he would be fine by himself until they got there.

And he was. He was used to it. For the past nineteen years of his life, the rare days when his parents were home were painfully structured and quietly deafening. He preferred their absence, honestly. But ever since demogorgons ripped through the ceiling of his life, he found himself leaving every light in his house on every single night. Not because he was scared, he’d be damned if anyone ever found out that he _was_, but in case his parents might see when they decided to finally stumble back home. In case they decided to knock on his door and ask him if he’s alright after climbing the stairs. In case they decided to tell him they love him, fingers stroking his hair, after not uttering those very words in years.__

_ __ _

_ __ _

He never really talked about it. How he felt cursed because no one ever loved him back. How, when he was at his lowest, he blamed Nancy for everything, even though he knew she had no control over any of it. 

Perfect, pretty, poised, princess Nancy. 

Steve sighed.

All he ever wanted was to feel something more. Something like the movies. And in the movies, stupid teenagers went to parties, were beyond popular, and almost worshipped in their immense normal-ness. He figured he had it in the bag. Everything.

He was good-looking, athletic—being captain of the baseball team was something he’d never admit he was actually proud of—had more than enough money to throw around whenever he felt like making it rain, was friends with the right people, the kids of his parents’ friends. His grades weren’t the best, but they also weren’t the worst, and he had the Harrington name to fall back on if sport scholarships weren’t enough to carry him through to a top school. He was set. He was set for his entire life without even blinking an eye.

But then his swimming pool turned into a graveyard and his reputation drowned. 

Regardless of however many beers he managed to swallow, the number of appearances he made at various parties, he couldn’t move past that. It followed him everywhere. It was a constant reminder that, even though he’d graduated from high school, he still dreamed about being a stupid teenager. He doesn’t miss King Steve, he really doesn’t, but at least King Steve made sense to everyone. 

People liked King Steve.

They responded to him, listened to him, followed him. The world was at his fingertips until it suddenly wasn’t.

He, contrary to popular belief, wasn’t an idiot. He heard all the whispers in the hallways. He knew people were talking. He just couldn’t explain the king’s downfall without mentioning tunnels and blinking lights and a baseball bat covered in nails, and he signed all of that away the moment Dr. Owens handed him a stack of forms to keep quiet.

And he has. He’s been good and everything King Steve wasn’t—real, genuine, kind, a dependable emergency contact.

The biggest difference of all, though, was that people loved this Steve.

That’s why he thinks that the gate is the best thing that’s ever happened to him. King Steve had to perish for Real Steve to have what he has now. And what he has now is _everything_. __

_ __ _

_ __ _

He has friends. Not just people his own age using him for his money and personal gain. Real friends. True comrades. People that have seen him at his worst and loved him just as much as they did when he was on top of the world. Friends that care about him. Friends that don’t lie, fight monsters, and always, always have his back.

People to remind him that he isn’t alone on his invisible throne, a throne that never existed at all, because there was never even a kingdom to rule in the first place.

He has Dustin. God, he loves that little shithead. 

Sometimes he thinks the universe really heard him when he was seven and begged for a friend. He thought Tommy H was his solution, since he moved to Hawkins a week after he pleaded to his bedroom walls. Tommy had been inseparable by his side since they met. But he wasn’t what he needed. Steve needed cleidocranial dysplasia, curly hair with a hat every day. Steve needed someone who saw through him, someone who saw him for him and who he could be. Someone who didn’t care that he was a Harrington, and someone who loved having him around.

Steve needed someone who’d die if he died. He needed a brother.

That’s why Steve Harrington would do it all over again if he had the chance. Not to change things, or fix things, but to do it exactly the same. 

He’d leave that note in Nancy’s locker, fall for her with every bone in his body, just for her to crush him and end up alone.

He’d break Jonathan’s camera, cause a scene in the alley downtown, and then swing a bat to save him in a heartbeat. He’d do it without even thinking. 

He’d do absolutely anything for the kids. His kids. He’d take plates to the head, kicks to the ribs, slaps to the face, whatever he needed to do to make sure they weren’t feeling any pain or in any danger. It didn’t matter if he got battered and bruised in the process. They were his number one priority. He’d never had anything to stand for until Dustin requested his assistance with Dart. It felt good to be needed, to be actually wanted.

God, it was something he could get _used_ to.__

_ __ _

_ __ _

He’s thinking about all of this, and about last Christmas, and how this year is so wondrously different, when he notices smoke billowing into the air, turning everything slightly hazy, bringing a gray cloud into the bright atmosphere, breaking the moment.

“Shit, shit, SHIT!” He’s up and on his feet faster than the speed of light, running straight towards the oven, so fast he doesn’t see Robin racing in from across the hall.

They collide into a tangled heap on the floor, laughter drowning out the radio and the timer that was buzzing its life away. (Because some things never change.)

“Harrington, I can’t even leave you alone for one minute without you causing a scene...give me some warning if you’re planning on burning the house down, okay?”

“Rob, I—” 

“All you had to do was open the oven and place the cookies on the stove. We went over this,” She was still laughing. Steve would do anything if she’d just keep laughing. It was his favorite kind of music.

He never wanted it to stop.

He took a breath and wiped his eyes. “I didn’t hear the timer go off,”

“What was that? I can’t hear you if you whisper, dingus.”

He tried again, a little louder. “The timer. I didn’t hear it.”

She looked at him like he’d grown two heads. “Are you deaf now and didn’t feel like telling anyone?”

What he really meant was thank you. Thank you for everything—for being his friend, for standing up for him, for trusting him with who she is, for taking the time to see that he’d never really been a king in the first place, and for still sticking around after that. For caring even more about him after that.

He wanted to ask her to never become a stranger he could recognize anywhere. To never be someone who leaves.

Because this, this was good. This was something he wanted forever. This was something he could hold and never shatter. This was something that actually mattered. 

“Steve, did you OD over there?” Robin’s voice snapped him back into reality and a familiar memory.

“No, sorry, I—just thinking, you know?” 

He didn’t have to say it. He could tell she knew and understood from the look on her face. She loved him back. She felt the same. He wasn’t alone. He wasn’t ever going to be again.

“Yeah. I know the feeling.” 

They both paused for a moment, the tiniest of moments, to remember the feeling, the unspoken _“I love you, I’m so grateful you’re here right now and alive”_, and then they stood up, Robin immediately grabbing their smoldering cookies from the still smoking oven.__

_ __ _

_ __ _

They’re both shuffling around the kitchen, trying to determine if any of their blackened hard work is salvageable while simultaneously attempting to keep the smoke detectors from going off, when, in the middle of the commotion, there’s a series of knocks on the door.

“Go do something useful and get that, won’t you?” Robin said it with a cheeky smile.

“For the last time, it's not my fault I didn't hear the timer go off,” Steve wiped his hands on his apron and stretched his arm out as he walked to the front door.

Out of every single person in the world, the one he least expected to see greeted him with a smile. He doesn’t realize it until she’s standing right in front of him and he sees her rosy face, traces of snow still in her hair, but then it’s all he can think about. It’s all he can feel.

“Hey, Dustin said I might find you here. Are you alright? Is that smoke?!” She motioned to his disheveled look and the smell of burnt sugar. Steve smiled to himself.

He’s okay. Honestly. Really. After two concussions, one broken heart, a scar from being interrogated by Russians, endless nightmares, after all of the bullshit—

“Yeah, Nance. I’m good.” And for the first time since his life turned upside down, he meant it.


End file.
